


Taste

by The_Cool_Aunt



Series: Flatmates [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Gunther von Hagens, John deduces, Sherlock is fascinated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:09:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cool_Aunt/pseuds/The_Cool_Aunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock's taste is questioned. If you're not familiar with the work of Gunther von Hagens and are squeamish, don't do any Googling. Trust me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste

“Oh, Sherlock. Please don’t hang it up. It’ll give me nightmares.” Mrs Hudson turned away from the lurid mounted photo that Sherlock had just unwrapped.  
  
“I’ll hang it in my bedroom,” he assured her. She didn't look relieved. More horrified than ever, was more like it.  
  
“You’re going to keep it?!” John spat out.  
  
“I find the work of Gunther von Hagens intriguing. Whoever sent this clearly knows my taste.”  
  
“Whoever… you don’t know who sent it?”  
  
Sherlock didn’t reply, humming as he removed the last of the packing material. Mrs Hudson shook her head and headed downstairs.  
  
“Of course I know who sent it,” Sherlock muttered as soon as she was out of earshot.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“John, you know my methods.”  
  
John rolled his eyes, then picked up the discarded packaging.  
  
“All right. London postmark…West End. Hand addressed. So not shipped directly from a museum shop.”  
  
“Good. Keep going.”  
  
“Handwriting—male. Outgoing. Spontaneous. No sense of personal space. High self-esteem…”  
  
“John?”  
  
“What? Article in an in-flight magazine.”  
  
Sherlock nodded in acquiescence. “What else?”  
  
“Knows you well. Knows your taste well. Willing to indulge you in some of your less savory interests. Wait… it’s from Moriarty?!”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
“No. That’s it. Send it back. Throw it away. Get it out of the flat this instant.”  
  
“But, John!” Sherlock pouted. “It’s my birthday!”  
  



End file.
